The Facets of a Crystal
by Rhiannon A. Christy
Summary: Some souls are as old as the universe, always seeking out each other no matter the age. Darcy Lewis and Phil Coulson have been connected from the beginning, even if they hadn't known it. Connected dabbles of the past lives of Darcy and Phil.


#1: Tomorrow We'll Count the Dead

Smoke curled in the air, bringing with it the scent of blood. Like hot iron it pierced the mouth, leaving behind the tainted taste of betrayal. Darcy stared down the man before her. Her heart was steady, her breath even. The only evidence of her anger were the clenched fingers curled around the hilt of her sword.

All around her laid the bodies of her men, their blood staining the deck. Only one had survived this man's ravages. And he stood at her side, his steady heartbeat a balm to the demon raging inside her. As though one body they moved forward, their swords ringing through the air with a banshee wail. Their aim proved true, and with a single move they split Ward in three.

Darcy watched calmly as the traitor's body fell with a sick, wet thud. Her wrath had not been sated, and would not until her sword gorged on the blood and bone of all their enemies. For they had signed their death warrants the moment they turned their eyes to her ship.

Fingers slick with gore slid along her chin, pulling her gaze from the horror and to a pair of cold blue eyes. Phil, the last of her men, the one that had proved his loyalty. Her breathing matched his, and with all the force of her rage she clamped her lips to his.

They never dropped their swords, never moved as the sounds of fire rang out in the distance. Whatever came they would be ready, and tomorrow they would count the dead.

* * *

#2 Beware the Cider

Laughter rang through the tavern like music, and all danced around and around in circles. The cider was flowing freely, and every man had his fill. Tankards clinked and clattered to the floor as Old Man Fury stood from his seat and bellowed aloud. The shock sent many to their feet and before anyone could speak fists swung.

The tables crashed to the ground, the chairs flew through the air. Men and maids alike were brawling on the floor, dirt, cider and blood covered them. One maid grabbed two large flagons and started swinging. With a turn right and then left she met flesh with her iron, and through the crowd she moved. Until she stood before Old Man Fury, and with all her force she bashed that man upside the head.

Like a tree he fell with a loud thump, and all went quiet as every eye settled on that curvesome young maid. She smiled and picked up the only cup of cider left and downed it in one go. And with a loud bellow of her own she entered back into the fray.

When the dirt settled only two remained. The young maid and her fine man, and with a laugh they turned and left that tavern.

* * *

#3 The Fires of Hell

The world was thick with black smoke, it filled the lungs, coated the tongue with grease that neither water nor whiskey could remove. Still Phil struck his shovel into the mess at his feet, hauling the load into the great fires. Sweat trickled down his bare back, tickling at the waistband of his trousers.

One, two, three, haul… One, two, three, haul… the fires of hell rose to lick at his hands and arms. Burns covered most every inch of his flesh. The only salvation in that misery pit the water maid. She came with her skin covered in soot, hair all a-tangle. No matter that her shoes were gummed with that caustic blackness, Phil thought her the most beautiful woman.

She stood now before him, her bucket of water in one hand, the other reaching out to him. He took what Darcy offered, his fingers wrapping around hers as she pulled him up. She dipped the ladle into the bucket, and brought the water to his lips. He was eager though the liquid was warm. He drank his fill until he felt his stomach ache.

He slipped his hand over her cheek, smearing grease along her already grimy skin. He hated seeing the pity in her eyes, and so he reached over and pressed a simple kiss upon her lips. She stepped back when he released her, and he watched as she moved on to the next man. He returned back to his work, but his eyes remained with his water maid. One day they would escape this place, until then he would feed those fires.

One, two, three, haul… One, two, three, haul…

* * *

#4 The Court Danced On

A flutter of eyes, a flash of a smile, a gentle touch given discreetly. They knew should they be caught they would lose their heads. She was the wife of a powerful man, with both title and wealth. And he, one of the King's most trusted men.

The Court danced on, unaware of the two lovers in their midst. Lady Darcy twirled in her husband's arms, but her heart was across the room in the hands of Sir Phil. In the night it would be her husband's touch, but to him she was numb. Only the caress of her dear knight could awake feeling within her.

Phil watched on as another man led his Love across the room. His hands clenched, desiring to run his sword through his gut, but he stood his ground. He would wait, soon he would have her in his arms. Even if it was only for a short time.

The two lovers silently cried out in agony, and the Court just danced on…

* * *

#5 His Cruel Mistress

Darcy stood along the cliff's edge, the wind whipping the skirt of her dress with great violence. She wrapped herself tighter in her shawl, ignoring the strands of hair fluttering against her cheeks. A single tear slipped down her cheek, trickling down until falling to the rocks below.

She imagined she could see a ship moving closer, but she knew it to be nothing more than hope and dreams. Out there among the deadly waters, with the vengeful winds and the hungry sirens her love sailed. He held her heart, but only a part did she hold of his. For he would always belong to the sea.

She had never asked him to give up the waters, but every night she sent up her prayers that he would return to her alive. And to this day God had answered her.

The shadow of a ship rose along the horizon, and with a cry Darcy raced along the cliff. Down through tall grass and heather, rocks and pebbles she raced until she met the ship at the docks. Winded, with feet torn and bloody she waited.

Laughter echoed around them as she caught sight of her dear Love. He smiled and rushed down, gathering her up in his arms. She might have to share him with a cruel mistress, but she knew he would always return to her.

* * *

#6 Blessed

Phil was quiet as he entered his home. He carefully removed his muddy boots, setting them aside by the door. From the other room he could hear the soft notes of his wife singing, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his mouth.

He padded his way softly across the room, resting his shoulder on the doorway. He watched as Darcy slowly bounced their little daughter in her arms. She looked up at him, a small smile on her lips. The babe cooed from her arms, rooting against her mother's chest.

Quietly, careful not to disturb his little girl, he slipped into the room. He wrapped a single arm around his wife, with the other he gently ran his fingers over the light brown down that covered the baby's head. Darcy leaned her head against him and picked up where she had left off.

Phil's voice joined in, their voices harmonizing perfectly as they stood in the middle of the nursery rocking their daughter to sleep. Most mornings he couldn't believe that he had been gifted these angels, but in moments like this he sent all his payers up high, thankful to be so blessed.

* * *

#7 Her World

The first light of morning peeked through the curtains, shining on the two lovers curled on the bed. Their arms were entangled, fingers slowly drawing patterns on bare skin.

Darcy looked up into the eyes of her husband, a sigh falling from her lips at the soft look she found. So much had happened in the years past. War and death almost separated them, but Phil had been strong and fought his way back to her.

At times he was still back in those trenches, blood covering everywhere that mud didn't. The echoes of bullets and cannons. She had held him in the dead of night when those terrors haunted him. But now, they had a moment of peace.

She closed her eyes as he ran his hand up her back and into her hair, his body gently pressing her down into the sheets. He leaned over her, his hands framing her face. In that moment he was her whole world, every breath was his, every touch and sigh. She cried when he fell into her, his lips gathering up each tear.

So many tears she had cried for him, in sorrow, in happiness, and in passion. She wrapped her arms tighter around him, grateful beyond all measure that he was safe and had returned to her. Her love, her world.

* * *

#8 Here and Now

Darcy gasped and pulled her hand back. The iPod which she had been about to snatch away from Agent Ass, falling to the ground with a sharp crack. But she couldn't think about the demise of poor George, not after everything that just happened.

Phil Coulson was normally a collected man, but at that moment all he could do was stand there with his hand reaching out into thin air. He blinked, and blinked some more. That morning he had planned on returning Miss Lewis' iPod. It should have been simple. He expected her to yell at him some more, possibly try to punch his arm again. He had thought about even allowing her that. What he hadn't expected to see what flashes of him and Miss Lewis in various scenarios when her hand touched his.

"What. The. _HELL_. Was. THAT?!" Darcy swallowed as she looked up at Agent… Phil… She shook her head, stopping when he seemed to gather himself and bent down in front of her.

He gathered up her iPod, and after straitening he hesitated only a moment before placing it in her hands. He breathed a sigh of relief when no more images assaulted his brain.

"Shield will make sure to replace your iPod. Good-day, Miss Lewis." Maybe it was cowardice of him, but he turned on his heel and started on his way. He told himself he wasn't fleeing, but that was just what he was doing. He needed some time to try and deal with all the images… and feelings that he had just been assaulted with.

Darcy could only stand there watching as the older man walked away. She couldn't say why, but she was sure that she would see him again. Even if he did just run away. She turned herself and returned back into Jane's lab, the phantom memory of Phil's lips and touch still lingering on her flesh.

She looked back out towards the desert and smiled. Maybe, just maybe she was looking forward encountering that particular agent again.

* * *

Author's Note: I had no idea where this was going, I simply put on some Merry Wives of Windsor *a rather bawdy music group of ladies* and started writing. Of course now I have this image in my head of Darcy trying to break Phil by playing the naughty songs over and over… such as The Swallow. This might be a story in the future, just because.

 **Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**


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